


Fuck the Fiercest Fables

by rufflefeather



Category: The Eagle | Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-07
Updated: 2012-03-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 14:46:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rufflefeather/pseuds/rufflefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus mistakes Esca for a hooker, for this prompt at the_eagle_kink: </p>
<p>Esca had been secretly pining for Marcus for a while, but Marcus never seemed to notice him. One day when they're at a bar or something, Marcus comes up to Esca and propositions him. Esca, of course, is delighted. Until Marcus asks him how much he wants to be paid.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: Not for profit. </p>
<p>Title from Bon Iver's Towers</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck the Fiercest Fables

Three girls are clutching hands and the tallest their mother’s skirt as they babble, fingers still sticky from candy corn and floss.  
  
 _Rapunzel,_  Marcus thinks, as he glances up at the theater they are leaving, but he doesn’t remember there being a talking horse. He doesn’t recognize any of the films on the billboard.  
  
‘Flynn was so  _dreamy,_ ’ the tallest girl says and she curls a brown lock of hair around her finger as she gazes in the distance, no doubt seeing images of herself and the Flynn character riding away into a setting sun on the talking horse. ‘He’s my true love.’  
  
‘His name was Eugene,’ the smallest says and she’s scowling, like that girl in all the Prince William and his bride pictures, a smudge of what must be chocolate bribery on her left cheek.   
  
Marcus sympathises. He’s never seen the fun in fairy tales. The thought of witches poisoning princesses, of ugly little men stealing children, of guys with flutes making people dance until their feet bleed has never appealed to him.   
  
The oldest girl says something to the little one, whose curls are much more the blond norm of fables and the little one sticks her tongue out and then they’ve rounded the corner.  
  
 _And true love,_  Marcus thinks,  _isn’t that the tallest tale of them all?_  He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, really feeling the sting of winter now. It has that particular bite that always precedes snow and for a moment he contemplates just going home. But it’s Friday night, and his empty apartment is even less appealing than a cold stroll through ice and snow. Marcus scowls at the sky as if it’s responsible for his loneliness and then ducks into his local.  
  
It’s a bit seedy and dark, and if he stays late enough street workers will try to pick him up, (but no one else, oh no) and the usual Friday after work crowd is already trickling in. It won’t be long before the place is packed so Marcus orders two G&T’s and settles at the end of the bar. The discomfort of being there all by himself swirls around the base of his spine again, but he knows it’ll be gone in time with his drinks. He knows just about everyone’s face in there, all local people working for local banks and shops and he knows it’s stupid to tell himself he’s doing this because he might meet someone. People don’t meet in bars anymore, they meet online, in chat rooms where they talk dirty before they’ve even seen each other’s faces.   
  
And still, Marcus wants. Just once. He doesn’t believe in true love. Never did, his parents saw to that. But sometimes a pretty face will open a carefully locked vault in his chest and out will come the roaring fire.   
  
There is the couple that always comes in fighting and leaves with their lips locked together. Marcus starts his second drink and snorts. He’d given them ten days when he first saw them. That was nine months ago.  
  
There is the girl with the ginger hair who will smile shyly at him before her friends whisk her away, staring at him like he’s some kind of weirdo hanging around bars by himself. That must mean it’s past nine already and Marcus is surprised to see four empty glasses by his left wrist.  
  
‘Shit,’ he says to no one. He forgot to eat and the alcohol sings in his veins. He slips off his bar stool, throws some money on the bar and says; ‘Shit,’ again. Because there’s that kid, that thin, wiry kid who always stares and stares but never comes over. He’s one of the ones who could open that vault but Marcus keeps it tightly sealed because he’s a hooker and he’d never sink that low.   
  
But Marcus  _wants_  and the alcohol in his system is making his blood run hot. His head spins a little when the kid catches his eye. God, his  _eyes_.   
  
Before Marcus knows what he’s doing, his feet are carrying him to wall by the fireplace.  
  
‘Hey,’ he says and feels like a right idiot because he has no idea what to say next. But hookers do this all the time, right? So he waits for the kid - no, not a kid, definitely not a kid seen from this close - to say something. He starts to smile and it animates his whole body, not just his face.  
  
‘Hey yourself,’ the guy says, when Marcus doesn’t speak again. He shifts from one foot to the other, his leather jacket creaking audibly over the murmur in the pub. It brings a trace of a scent to Marcus’s nostrils that rattles the thing in his chest and he feels his eyes flutter closed for a moment. The guy’s eyes widen a little, comically so, as if he finds this whole thing confusing.  
  
‘Do you -’ Marcus clears his throat, goes to put his hand against the wall, next to the guy’s shoulder, but realizes how tacky that would be and thinks the better of it. ‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’ he tries again.  
  
The guy’s mouth slides into a lovely smile, and  _why,_  Marcus thinks,  _why does he have to be a hooker._  
  
 _Because you wouldn’t be standing here if he wasn’t,_  a nasty little voice whispers in his head but he ignores it because the guy pushes himself away from the wall.  
  
‘Yeah,’ he says, mirth written all over his face, but it’s kind. Inviting. ‘Because it’s so crowded in here.’  
  
Marcus turns around and huffs a laugh. The bar is practically empty.  
  
‘That was a lousy pick-up line, wasn’t it?’ he says and he laughs louder, nerves tingling across his arms.  
  
‘I’ve heard better, yeah,’ the guy says, the Scottish lilt as inviting as everything else about him. His smile is warm and so is his hand when it folds around Marcus’s wrist. ‘Let’s go.’  
  
‘I’m Marcus,’ he says when they’re outside and the cold stings their faces. The guy pulls a ratty woolen hat out of his jacket and Marcus must be staring at it in disbelief because the guy smiles a bit sheepishly. And  _oh_.  
  
‘It’s my favorite,’ he says, ‘nan made it for me donkey’s years ago and it’s the softest thing that’ll ever grace my head. Here, feel.’  
  
Marcus just stares, because this, this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. When he doesn’t move, the guy pulls at Marcus’s wrist again.  
  
‘Touch it,’ he insists, grinning widely and Marcus feels blinded. The hat is shoved against his palm.  
  
‘It’s - very soft,’ he says, dazed. His eyes never leave the guy’s face though and it seems to redden beneath his gaze.   
  
 _He’s blushing,_  Marcus thinks.  _What the -_  
  
‘I know you’re Marcus by the way,’ he says, pulling the hat over his ears. ‘I’ve noticed you before. And -’ he holds up a hand when Marcus opens his mouth, ‘if you say you’ve noticed me noticing you, I will never let you live it down,’ he laughs.  
  
 _Never let you._  As if there is more to this than the next hour.  
  
‘What’s your name?’ Marcus asks conscious he’s barely spoken since they’ve come outside. ‘And where are we going?’  
  
‘Oh  _God_ , I’m sorry. I’m just rambling on aren’t I? It’s just nerves, is all. I’m Esca and I know this great pub just round the corner. It’s very quiet and they have this great -’  
  
Esca goes on about some hot drink with real chocolate but Marcus has stopped in his tracks.  _Nerves? He’s nervous?_  
  
‘Another pub?’ he says, his confusion temporarily taking over his tact. ‘Don’t you charge by the hour?’  
  
‘I - what?’ Esca comes to a standstill too, and slowly, so slowly time itself seems to hesitate, his face falls. ‘Fuck. What?’ Esca stares at Marcus, all humour vanished. His voice has gone deep and quiet and he rubs a fingerless gloved hand over his face. ‘You think I’m a whore.’  
  
The gloves are the same colour as the hat and just as worn. Marcus wonders if Esca’s Nan made them too. There’s a bit of wool coming loose by Esca’s thumb and Marcus thinks it must tickle, because thinking anything else right now feels a little bit like the end of the world.  
  
‘You think I’m a whore?’ Esca says again, with a disbelieving laugh and Marcus already knows Esca’s face well enough to anticipate it will hold that wide-eyed confusion as if Esca’s missed out on some joke. Marcus doesn’t say anything,  _how could he? What could he possibly say to make up for this?_  He feels the warmth he’d been borrowing from Esca leave his body. Warmth that had swirled around his wrists until it filled his arteries, pumping through his soul, driven by the burning vessel in his chest. Now it feels like the pavement is leeching the warmth from his fingers and Marcus curls them into fists, as if trying to hold on to it for just a little longer.   
  
‘Stop staring at my hands and look me in the face.’ Esca’s voice is rough and Marcus looks up.   
  
‘Well.' Suddenly it's important that he explains, vital that Esca understands. 'With the leather jacket and the tight jeans, -’ he says.   
  
Esca laughs, the sound harsh. ‘What?’ He lifts his arms, widens his eyes as if to say,  _well? What else have you got?_  
  
Marcus shifts uncomfortably, someone shuffles past them and he waits until they’re gone. ‘You’re always in that bar,’ he tries to say.  
  
‘So are you.’  
  
‘You’re always by yourself.’  
  
So - are - you,’ Esca says, louder now, exasperated.   
  
‘You always leave with different people.’  
  
‘They are friends,’ Esca almost shouts. ‘Obviously a concept you’ve never heard of. Fuck! Did it ever occur to you why i am always in the same crappy pub as you? Every fucking week in that hole?’ He takes a step back, looking to the sky and shaking his head. ‘Of course it has.’ A self-deprecating laugh. ‘It’s why you think I’m a hooker. Yeah,’ Esca rubs his face again. ‘Yeah, I’m leaving now. Fuck.’  
  
He looks so beaten that Marcus reaches out and grabs hold of Esca’s sleeve. The leather is unexpectedly soft and warm beneath his fingers. ‘No, wait. I'm sorry, can’t we still -’  
  
‘No.’ Esca shrugs himself free. ‘No, you’re a coward. You only came up to me because you thought I was a prostitute. And a prostitute wouldn’t blow you off now, would they? Fuck you, man. Fuck. You.’  
  
‘The hookers are the only ones who ever pay me any attention,’ Marcus says to Esca’s retreating back, even though he really didn’t mean to. ‘And the entire time i was wishing you werent.’  
  
Esca stops and turns around. The world has gone quiet around them, a Christmas tree flashing lights in the distance. Marcus feels there should be noise of some kind, something to accompany the sick twisting in his stomach. And then a snowflake falls and he thinks,  _ah, that’s why the world was holding it’s breath._  
  
He catches it in his palm and it’s a sign of how devoid of warmth he is, that it doesn’t melt right away. He startles when he looks up, because Esca is standing much closer again. More snow drifts soundlessly to its death.  _A little like us_ , Marcus thinks, d _oomed before given a chance._  
  
Only he must have spoken out loud because Esca reaches out and touches the droplet of water in Marcus’s palm and says, ‘Shit, how am i supposed to stay mad after that?’  
  
‘I should’ve known really,’ Marcus says, with a grin, careful, because the ice is thin, still. ‘I should’ve known as soon as you pulled that hat out of your coat. No prostitute would be seen dead in that.’  
  
Esca puffs out a disbelieving laugh and then it turns genuine, his head tilting back, cheekbones catching drifting snowflakes. Marcus feels like maybe he’s been choking on a poisoned apple and it just dislodged from his throat.   
  
‘You’re a piece of work aren’t you,’ Esca says, but his eyes are curious, searching, as if Marcus is something he’d like to understand, one day.  
  
‘One drink,’ Marcus says, emboldened.   
  
‘One drink, that’s all. You majorly screwed up your chances of getting laid tonight. Unless you find yourself a real hooker.’  
  
‘You wanted to -’ Marcus splutters and feels a blush spread all the way down to his chest.  
  
‘Man, I’ve been pining after you for months - way to kill my boner for you by the way.’  
  
‘Sorry.’  
  
Esca laughs, softer now. ‘Come on crazy-cakes,’ he says and takes him by the wrist again, to guide him to the pub with the mysterious chocolate drink. The snowflakes stick to the pavement now, and to Esca’s hair,  _and_  Marcus thinks, marvelling at the feel of Esca’s fingers around his wrist,  _if they survive, no matter how briefly, then maybe so can we._  
  
  
They are about to close but Esca waves at the girl behind the bar and indicates Marcus with a jerk of his head. The girl smirks and goes to throw another log on the fire. The sofa they sink into is so old, the springs are worn and they both teeter toward the middle so their shoulders press together.  
  
‘So this should probably be awkward,’ Marcus says, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘but compaired to how we started out, this is just smooth operating, isn’t it?’  
  
Esca looks at him with surprise and laughs. It’s a sound Marcus could learn to love, if Esca’d let him. ‘You’re actually quite funny when you’re not too busy being mental,’ he says as he pulls off his hat, hair sticking up in all directions. The girl turns up with two large mugs of steaming milk. There is a large piece of chocolate melting away in them and the scent of cinnamon and something else makes Marcus feel a little heady.  
  
‘On the house,’ she says as she winks at Esca and Marcus sees his ears turn bright red.  
  
‘What’s that all about,’ he wants to know.  
  
Esca chews his lip and looks down as he slides one glove from his hand. ‘Well,’ he begins and Marcus can’t look away from how the blood turns his bitten lips pink again. ‘She wondered why I stopped coming here after work, to meet up with my friends. I told her about, eh - you. She said free drinks if I’d convince you to come here instead.’  
  
‘God, I screwed things up, didn’t I,’ he says, folding his hands over his face, elbows on his knees.  
  
‘You certainly did, love,’ Esca says, clapping a hand on Marcus’s back. Only he doesn’t move it. His other hand is still gloved, holding the mug of chocolate.   
  
‘So there is no hope,’ Marcus says, but he’s smiling a little. Esca’s eyes catch on it, his lids fluttering briefly, as if he thinks Marcus’s smile is nice.  
  
‘For you? None, none what so ever.’ Esca moves his hand, leaving Marcus feeling like he lost something. Esca drinks from the mug and sets it back down on the little round table. The bristle of the fire is the only sound and the girl is nowhere to be seen.   
  
‘Your mouth,’ Marcus blurts out, immediately wincing at his own inelegance.   
  
‘What about it?’ Esca asks, wiping at it with his gloved hand, then looking down at it, expecting chocolate to stick to the wool.  
  
‘I want to kiss it.’   
  
Because there is no going back now. Marcus owes Esca something. He owes him to bare his hands and let his honest thoughts trickle from his palms like fairy dust. Marcus touches his fingertips to Esca’s mouth as if there really is such a thing as waking up from a hundred years of sleeping and finding everything you ever wanted on the other side.  
  
‘Oh,’ Esca says, the sound a puff of warmth on Marcus’s skin. ‘In that case, don’t let me stop you.’  
  
There is a difference however, between saying and doing something that stills a breath before it’s born.   
  
‘I don’t -’ Marcus begins, not knowing how to go on.  
  
‘You’ve never kissed someone before?’ Esca whispers.  
  
‘I have, it’s just - been a long time.’  
  
‘How? How is someone with your face so awkward?’ Esca laughs, but it’s soft, sweet. ‘Come on. Rose will kick us out soon anyway.’ He stands, dragging Marcus to his feet.  
  
‘Where are we going?’  
  
Esca takes his time to answer, looking at Marcus as if it may be written on his face. ‘Do you live far from here?’  
  
‘No. No I don’t.’  
  
‘Then let’s go.’ Esca hesitates. It’s just a soft flicker of doubt,  _and maybe_  Marcus thinks, _maybe he’s not as confident as he looks._ He has to laugh at that. Of course Esca isn’t. He’s been wanting Marcus from afar for all this time and never talked to him. He is just being brave for both of them.   
  
‘Yes,’ Marcus says, slipping his fingers between Esca’s gloveless ones, showing him he can be brave too. ‘Let’s go.’  
  
Their kiss starts by the door. A soft brush of lips parted with snow. It clings to Esca’s lashes and Marcus wants to capture the moment in one of those moving photographs he read about in the books of The Boy Who Lived. He says so, stroking his thumbs beneath Esca’s cheekbones, his hands framing the angles of Esca’s face.   
  
‘I always pictured you as the type who reads,’ Esca says, burying his face in Marcus’s neck, as if the admission is an embarrassing one. Marcus is glad he has the door to lean against because he feels like his knees might give out. The door he’ll have to open soon, and stepping through it will be a little bit like falling through the rabbit hole. He must have said that out loud too, because Esca pulls away a little, fingers tangled in Marcus’s coat.   
  
‘It’s either that or stay out here and freeze,’ he says and Marcus notices that his lips are a little pale.  
  
‘Told you that leather jacket’s no good,’ he says, but what he really wants to do is cover Esca’s mouth with his own again.  
  
‘Shut up and open the door,’ Esca says, grinning. He pushes Marcus through it, and keeps pushing until Marcus’s back collides with the first available wall.  
  
‘I eh- do you want a drink?’ Marcus asks, suddenly flustered. ‘I have wine, or coffee, or - wine.’ His head thumps painfully against the wall as Esca pulls his coat to the side, pressing kisses along the contours of Marcus’s neck.  
  
‘Whatever,’ Esca says and then he gently licks and sucks the dip beneath Marcus’s jaw and the world seems to tilt sideways for a moment.   
  
‘Or,’ Marcus says hoarsely, ‘I have a living room. With a couch.’  
  
Esca laughs but it sounds breathless. He has pushed the coat over Marcus’s arms now and pauses to place his palms over the roaring thunder in Marcus’s chest. ‘Anything. Anything with a flat surface. Fuck, the floor’ll do,’ he adds, when he feels the hard lines of Marcus’s stomach.   
  
Marcus’s breath seems to fight for room in his lungs when Esca’s hands stray lower. ‘I need a glass of water,’ he chokes out, ‘the living room is through there.’ He lets his coat fall to the floor and gives Esca what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he slips from between him and the wall. Esca follows him however, probably not fooled in the slightest.  
  
Marcus feels a hand at the base of his spine as he gulps down a glass of tap water.  _Don’t_ , he thinks as he screws his eyes shut, d _on’t start asking about my past now. Maybe there is time for that later,_ and his mind staggers that he even allows himself to think of a later. But Esca just increases the pressure on his back to turn Marcus around. He sets the glass down and complies.   
  
Esca presses in close so Marcus feels the edge of the granite counter dig into him. The kiss this time is demanding. There is no hesitation, just a hot press and Esca takes until Marcus gives and opens his mouth. Esca tastes of chocolate and maybe rum, or whiskey, Marcus never ended up trying the drink. Esca rests a hand on the back of Marcus’s neck, keeping him exactly where he wants him, and Marcus thinks about that, until he can’t think anymore. He moans into Esca’s mouth, a deep, needy sound, chasing Esca’s flavour.  
  
‘Hello,’ Esca softly says, pulling away to press his forehead against Marcus’s temple. ‘There you are.’   
  
Marcus inhales a sharp breath when Esca’s fingers begin to unbutton his shirt, but he doesn’t stop him. Instead he watches the lines of concentration on his face turn into something that could be quiet wonder. ‘And here’s the treasure I’ve been hunting for,’ Esca whispers, tracing the arches and bows of Marcus’s body with the pads of his fingers.   
  
‘X marks the spot,’ Marcus says and Esca’s face splits into a mischievous grin.   
  
‘Does it now?’ he asks. He bites his lip, carefully watching Marcus as his hands stray agonizingly lower. Slowly, he unbuttons Marcus’s jeans, leaving the shirt hanging. Marcus arches back, his body a taut line of muscle and sinew, when Esca kisses his chest.  
  
‘I feel at a distinct disadvantage here,’ Marcus says, trying not to let his mind wander beyond  _want_  and  _now_.   
  
‘There’s a time and a place for everything.’ Esca says. ‘Well, well, commando.’ He pushes Marcus’s jeans down. ‘And your place is the counter top right now. Step out of your shoes.’ Marcus does and the jeans come off entirely. Esca pushes against Marcus with the flat of his hand until Marcus understands what he wants and hops on the counter. He winces at the cold and Esca grins, then moves between Marcus’s knees and draws him in for another kiss by the collar of his open shirt.   
  
‘Fuck,’ Marcus hisses, when Esca’s hand trails down.  
  
‘All in good time.’   
  
Esca stands back a little and just looks and looks until Marcus thinks he’s blushing so hard, his skin will never look normal again. He should feel embarrassed, sitting almost naked in his own kitchen but Esca is just staring at him as if Marcus is a forbidden fruit or something else a little bit wonderful.  
  
‘Gorgeous,’ Esca says. ‘I can’t get my mind around how gorgeous you are, and that you are here, with me.’  
  
‘And I don’t even have to pay,’ Marcus grins.  
  
‘Oh,’ Esca moves into his space again, presses his face into Marcus’s neck and without warning a hand folds around Marcus’s cock. He gasps loudly and Esca bites on his earlobe. ‘Oh, you’ll pay,’ he whispers.   
  
Esca sweeps his thumb through the droplet of moisture that forms on the head of Marcus’s dick and for a moment Marcus sees white as he nearly bites his own tongue.  
  
‘Here,’ Esca gently says. ‘Come here.’ He nudges Marcus’s cheek with his nose and it’s instinct to turn to him, to find Esca’s mouth and suck on his bottom lip. To slip his tongue into the warmth and rediscover what it tastes like to want someone so badly, it’s impossible to think. Esca’s hand curls around him more firmly and sets a slow, burning pace and Marcus tangles a hand in Esca’s hair to keep him where he needs him.  
  
And where he needs him soon changes. He doesn’t need to ask. He doesn’t need to say anything. He just looks Esca in the eye and Esca smiles and starts to kiss the length of Marcus’s body. Every touch is a meridian to his groin and by the time Esca plants his hands on either side of Marcus’s hips, Marcus is gasping, sweat beginning to pearl on his forehead.  
  
Esca doesn’t play around, doesn’t tease or doesn’t attempt to be coy. He just wraps his mouth around Marcus’s heavy cock and sinks down, down until Marcus can feel the heat of the back of his throat. He groans, has to clamp down on the urge to push deeper, an urge so fierce it makes him tremble. Esca drags his lips back up, sucking hard, tongue toying with the tip when he reaches it and he pulls off again, replaces his mouth with a hand.  
  
‘Shit,’ he pants, as he looks at Marcus. ‘So hot. You’re so fucking sexy like this, I could get off just from looking at you.’ He doesn’t waste time, lets his hand trail down until his fingers cup Marcus’s balls and takes him in his mouth again. Not as deep, this time, but he makes up for it by wrapping a hand around the base while the other pushes that sweet spot behind his sack. Marcus’s calves tighten against the kitchen cabinets beneath him with such force they almost cramp up and he has to grab hold of Esca’s hair as Esca sets a faster pace. Not so it would be over quickly, but because he likes it. He’s making these humming noises that reverberate through Marcus’s entire body and he had no idea,  _no idea_ , it could be like this.   
  
Marcus feels the burn in the pit of his stomach, the low feverish feeling that builds and builds until he’s ready to shatter. Esca seems to know, comes up once to push his tongue against the slit and then sinks down again, his hands and mouth and tongue all moving in harmony so Marcus can’t tell one from the other. It’s as if Esca’s mouth is everywhere.   
  
‘Esca,’ he tries to warn when Esca sucks and sucks, his cheeks hollowed out, eyes closed. ‘Esca, I’m going to -’ He pulls at Esca’s hair but Esca ignores him, sucks harder, moves faster and doesn’t stop. Not even when Marcus’s heels slam painfully into the cabinets and his back arches in a curve of ecstasy. The orgasm slams through him to the point of bitter-sweet pain. It takes him forever to come down, his hand on Esca’s head, who spits into the sink beside them and then rests his forehead on Marcus’s thigh. He was wrong, he didn’t shatter. He turned into the pearly foam on top of the waves of another fable that broke his heart when he was little.   
  
‘I won’t break your heart,’ Esca says and he means it to be accompanied by an eye-roll but he sounds a little too breathless and his hands are a little too soft on Marcus’s face.   
  
‘I should really learn to stop thinking out loud,’ Marcus says. Esca smiles, leans in and tries to kiss him but Marcus pretends to be disgusted and pushes at his face.  
  
‘Hey,’ Esca says, tugging at the shirt Marcus is still wearing, ‘it’s your spunk.’  
  
‘What happens now?’ Marcus asks. He tries to aim for casual but he knows he misses by about a light year.  
  
‘Now? Now, I take that glass of wine you offered earlier and then we take this into the bedroom.’  
  
‘And then?’  
  
‘Are you serious?’  
  
‘You know what I mean.’  
  
Esca's eyes search Marcus’s face. ‘Then you make me breakfast in the morning because I always imagined you’d make a killer omelet. I’ll make the coffee and they’ll both go cold because you’re walking around half naked and I can’t keep my hands off you.’  
  
‘I don’t leave you a fifty on the coffee table and you slip out in the middle of the night?’ Marcus asks, but he’s smiling and he’s folding his arms around Esca’s shoulders, who is still fully clothed and surely that is something he should remedy soon.  
  
‘Fifty? My blow-jobs are worth at least a hundred.’  
  
Marcus laughs, and draws Esca in for a kiss. The kind that could wake sleeping beauties, the kind that could bring girls with skin white as snow and lips red as blood to life.   
  
The kind he could learn to love, one day.   
  
  
~fin~

**Author's Note:**

> [Here at LJ.](http://rufflefeather.livejournal.com/25739.html)


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